


Enchantment

by escspace



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: A collection of aestheticized smut, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Edging, Impact Play, M/M, Orgasm Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: Breath and teeth and tongue. Skin on skin, silk on silk on silken sheets.





	1. Enchantment

 

 

Breath and teeth and tongue. Skin on skin, silk on silk on silken sheets. Frankenstein's eyelashes flutter, Raizel's soul shimmers, and they draw in each other's breaths. But,  _closer_.

"Master…" Frankenstein whispers as he hesitantly pulls away from Raizel's lips, the taste of sugar and tea still lingering on them. He stares at them for a moment, and they glisten like strawberries, cute and sweet, just like Master. His gaze travels up to meet Raizel's gentle eyes, and Frankenstein presses forward to capture his lips again, lifting his knee to rest it on the bed this time as he hovers just above Raizel. His hands trail down Raizel's neck, smoother than satin, then over his collarbones to reach his shirt, and he helps Raizel shed his clothing.

Raizel does the same for him.

Give and take, they have always been a balancing act, though Frankenstein would prefer for him to give and give and for Raizel to take and take. Take him and let him, for a moment, be Raizel's everything. Forget about duty and blood and nobles and humans. Right now, this time, this place, there is only them,  _only us_.

Frankenstein crawls fully onto the bed and has Raizel beneath him on his back. He hears Raizel draw a breath as Frankenstein presses their bodies together as he admires Master's flushed face. Even now, Raizel looks as pure as Heaven. No, he  _is_  as pure as Heaven, if there were such a thing. And if Heaven exists, it would be right here. Frankenstein knows this.

He lets out a soft sound into the side of his master's neck.

"Frankenstein," Raizel says, his voice serene and steady as he rests his fingers on Frankenstein's shoulders. Frankenstein's breath catches in his throat as Raizel effortlessly rolls them over. He searches Frankenstein's eyes to ask if this is really okay, and  _of course it is,_ like always.

Frankenstein smiles at him, but his smile falters when Raizel straightens up and backs away. "Master?" Frankenstein says as he tries to sit up, but his body does not obey as if he is bound to the bed.

Ah.

His heart flutters in anticipation. Frankenstein has always been a doctor and knows every inch of his own skin. Knows how to move, how to walk and talk, how to play and play pretend. It was about control, control over his body, his mind, his soul.  _Captain of my fate, master of my soul._  But here he is, bound by the powers of someone he calls "Master," and he loves it, because it is  _Master_.  _Only Master_. To submit completely and know he is safe because Raizel holds Frankenstein to be more precious than his precious self is his salvation. Yes, a ruinous Heaven is what Master is.

"I'd like to see you do it yourself," Master says, his eyes softly glowing, like a warm fireplace, like home.

Frankenstein's hands, like enchanted serpents—and they really were enchanted—pass over his own body, a fiery ghost's touch, and undo his pants. They reach in and stroke him in a way only Master knows.

Frankenstein swallows and breathes. Rosy-faced and stuttering. Vulnerable and slightly embarrassed. Sweat glides down his skin, and he's  _gorgeous_. Frankenstein knows this much, because he sees what Master sees, feels what he feels through their bond, and oh, if only Master could see himself to be just as beautiful. If only Master could see how hypnotic he is; Frankenstein would not be intoxicated otherwise.

Frankenstein is enchanting in his enchantment. He captures Raizel as Raizel has him. And it is  _enchantment_ , because mind control is an executioner's tool, and Raizel is his lover, his savior, his  _Master_ , before he is anyone's executioner, including their own. He is  _Raizel_.

Just here. Just now.  _Just us_. This world is small, and there will be no tears tonight.

Frankenstein's hands still, and Raizel nears him once again, replacing his hand with his own and releasing Frankenstein from those ethereal bonds.

Frankenstein reaches out and wraps his arms around Raizel to pull him closer, locking their lips together as if he is trying to catch a ghost of a dream. But Raizel is real and solid and has Frankenstein breathless. "Master," Frankenstein whispers into the small space between their lips barely big enough to fit his words. "Bind me."

And Raizel does so, because he cannot deny Frankenstein anything. He holds him close and casts his spell once again, and Frankenstein is spellbound. By his red eyes, by his mind, by their soul. Everything. He feels aflame, as if he is drowning in sensation. Master's movements and gaze wring though his body more intensely than they normally would, and Frankenstein's being sings with everything he feels. Their heartbeats, their breaths, their blood are all they hear—all they choose to hear—for now.

For now.

_Oh, now_.

Raizel smiles gently and blushes earnestly, leaning down to kiss Frankenstein's brow. He sheds the rest of their clothing and repositions himself between Frankenstein's legs. Frankenstein attempts to wrap them around Master, and Raizel allows him this. He arches into Master as Raizel's fingers open him up before pressing himself into Frankenstein.

They know each other's bodies well, and Frankenstein feels Raizel move in him in just the right way. They are too close to breathe, and Frankenstein is left gasping. This particular kind of delight, burning and potent, shakes his body and he comes, clutching at the sheets as his mind blanks and his orgasm courses through him. He reaches out to Master and pulls them closer to each other, and he feels—through a shudder, through a sigh—Raizel release shortly after.

* * *

Frankenstein turns on his side and gazes at Raizel. Raizel gazes back.

His eyes wander to the sunlight peeking through the curtains before focusing on Master again. Frankenstein sighs and smiles. He does not want to get up, does not want it to be  _tomorrow_  already. If only moments were immortal, as immortal as he wishes Master to be. The thought dampens his expression, and he knows Raizel notices.

Raizel breaks his gaze momentarily but looks up again. Sunlight illuminates his eyes, and they gleam like fresh, swirling blood—blood he spilled yesterday, blood he will spill tomorrow. "Frankenstein… " Raizel says, invisible dust dancing on his words.

"I know," Frankenstein says, trying to convince himself yet not wanting to be convinced. "But can I not dream?"

"I will not deny you that."

_You will not deny me anything_.

A pause. They look at each other. It is true, painfully true, and they smile.

Raizel pulls Frankenstein a bit closer and strokes his hair with his fingers, cradling his head gently as if his skin were thinner than paper-thin. "We are  _here_ , Frankenstein. For now, do not think of those things."

Frankenstein nods and closes his eyes. Perhaps tomorrow can come a bit later today.


	2. A Warm Sunday Afternoon

It is one of those quiet, lazy days: a warm Sunday afternoon. The breeze that passes through his curtains and room momentarily cools his bare, sweat-silken back. Frankenstein leans into his pillows and stares absently at the ceiling. How strange, how rare, it is to have the luxury of doing nothing. Normally, he would be sprinting, trying to outrun, outwit, outlive his enemies. But for now, the warm air is making him sleepy; Dark Spear has been quiet all day, something almost too good to be true.

Frankenstein's eyes slip closed, and he listens to the soft rustling of the curtains; they blend with the sound of his breathing. His fingers trace the contours of his abdomen, wander over the smooth hills and valleys, until they reach the fabric of his pants. Frankenstein hesitates. Really, he should be doing something productive. There is still paperwork—not that it matters how productive he is, there is always another stack waiting for him at the end of the day—labwork, sewing, cooking, cleaning, gardening, redecorating, et cetera, et cetera.

But maybe, just for today, he'll put those things off until tomorrow.

He sighs.

He wonders what Master is doing with the children. Are they giving him a hard time? Kids can be so cruel sometimes, but they are still his adorable students, regardless of how much trash they produce.

When will Master be back? In the evening, probably, as is usual. So he should probably wait until then to do something like this, but…

His hands slip in. He feels himself. He breathes. The curtains dance. It is a warm Sunday afternoon.

* * *

Frankenstein cleans himself, but before he can dress in his usual attire, someone steps into his room. "Master, you're back early."

Raizel nods. "You were thinking of me," he says as if that is all the explanation he needs.

And it is. Frankenstein glances away, slightly embarrassed, not for the first time. "I was," he admits.

Raizel lets out a soft sigh and smiles as warmly as the air. He glances at the shirt in Frankenstein's hands. "Would you like my assistance this time?"

Frankenstein smiles to himself, a coy, giddy smile. He sets the shirt down. "I...would; that is, if you don't mind."

Raizel's eyes glint in the sunlight. "I don't mind."

* * *

It is a warm Sunday evening.

Frankenstein clenches his eyes shut and cums for the sixth time. Or maybe seventh. Or maybe more. He doesn't quite remember. It has been a  _very_  productive day.

He lifts himself from being facedown on the bed onto his hands and knees and turns around. He sits up, leans back on his arms, and sighs. He stares dazedly at Raizel who crawls over to his side and rests his head on Frankenstein's shoulder.

"Would you like to continue?" Raizel asks softly. He places a kiss on Frankenstein's neck, brushes his lips against the back of Frankenstein's ear.

Frankenstein looks down at himself, rubs at the chafed skin around his wrists from their previous activities, and smiles. He wouldn't mind a few more marks. He nods. "But this time, Master, I want you to make me serve you." Frankenstein feels Raizel lift his head from his shoulder and he turns to face him. He knows this is one of his more...difficult requests.

But Raizel knows him well enough to know what he wants. "Very well," he says. He looks at Frankenstein intently. "Stand with your back to the bed."

Frankenstein does so.

Raizel shifts over to the edge of the bed and picks up the silk sash left from earlier. "I would like your hands, please."

Frankenstein puts his hands behind his back and Raizel begins to loop the silk through them. It slides smoothly against his skin, and Frankenstein can picture his Master's face, all quiet concentration because he wants to do this right for him. Frankenstein remembers the first times they had attempted bondage, and he would smile sympathetically as Master fiddled with the knot only to undo it and start over again. Master would glance back and forth between Frankenstein's limbs and the texts and diagrams Frankenstein had prepared. But now, Raizel hardly needs Frankenstein's instruction for these kinds of things.

Raizel tugs at the silk once more and tells Frankenstein to turn around. He considers Frankenstein for a moment with gentle eyes, opens his mouth slightly as if to say something, then decides against it. After a pause, " _kneel_."

Frankenstein's knees hit the floor hard enough to bruise. His heartbeat quickens. He smiles and looks at Raizel to see him part his legs and gaze down at him expectantly.

It is a command Frankenstein understands. He bends down, invites Master past his lips and draws him into his mouth. He presses forward, pulls back, sucks, licks, kisses, does what he can to bring Master pleasure with his hands restrained behind his back.

He feels himself become excited, feels the ache to be touched. He struggles a bit against the bonds, but they hold his hands still and he must not break them. Raizel's breathy sounds, his hands in his hair, his little shudders only make Frankenstein more impatient.

Frankenstein presses a moan to Raizel's skin. He looks up with pleading eyes, and perhaps it is a mistake because Raizel's rosy face and parted lips are the cutest things he's seen.

Frankenstein's breath catches when he feels Master's foot press against his erection.

"Frankenstein, you're dripping on the floor."

"Ah, my apologies, Master." He grins. "I can't help myself around you."

Raizel blinks and glances away, his face redder than it had been. "Hm."

_Cute_.

Frankenstein rests his head against his master's thigh and sighs as Raizel strokes him, presses and rubs where it feels best. He brushes Frankenstein's hair away from his face. "I did not tell you to stop," Raizel says, and Frankenstein resumes.

He takes Raizel down his throat, feels Raizel press particularly hard against his erection, and swallows all he gives.

Master lets out a breath and caresses Frankenstein's face. Frankenstein looks up and sees Master back away towards the center of the bed, a ruby eyed incubus, a siren, an enchanter. But before he can follow, Master presses  _those_  toes against Frankenstein's lips, and Frankenstein eagerly takes them in. He licks his own taste clean.

Once both of them are on the bed, Raizel embraces Frankenstein from behind, nuzzles the back of his ear, and sinks his fangs into the side of his neck. Frankenstein savors the feeling and feels his own fangs protrude. He bites down on his lip to draw blood. He turns around, presses their mouths together, urging Master to drink, to bite, to do what he will with and to his body and know that Frankenstein doesn't mind one bit—a special privilege granted only to Master.

Raizel breaks the kiss. They breathe each other in, press their foreheads together. Raizel looks into Frankenstein's eyes with a tremor of disquiet in his thoughts that flows down their link.

Frankenstein catches it, and Raizel drops his gaze. "I do not mean to question your judgment," he says softly.

"I know," Frankenstein whispers. "And I do not mean to either. That's why I give myself to you, Master."

"You give me more than I deserve."

"You deserve more than I can give."

Silence loud enough to hear their fluttering heartbeats. They look at each other and what could they say? They had had this conversation before, every waking moment. Neither of them deserved the other. Both of them deserve so much more.

Raizel sighs, smiles, presses Frankenstein down on the bed. Sees the sun his hair, the sky in his eyes, and heaven in his soul. And perhaps, just for Frankenstein, he can allow himself to take that sun, sky, and sea, to devour a slice of heaven, to be as greedy as Frankenstein wishes him to be.

And it would be all right.

* * *

Frankenstein is left a little sore, a little bruised, and  _very content_. He stretches his arms and sits up.

Raizel tenderly helps him get cleaned and dressed. "We're late for dinner," he states as he's tying Frankenstein's black ribbon.

"Oh."

"They're most likely waiting for us."

"I'll give them a break from the dishes to make up for it."

Raizel stares at Frankenstein.

"And I won't give them extra chores," Frankenstein finally adds.

Raizel does the last button of Frankenstein's shirt, satisfied.


	3. Breathtaken

His gaze sweeps over the garden, over every diaphanous petal, every branch, leaf, thorn—nothing is out of place. The fountain splashes quietly, pleasantly in the background, and the birds sing their twinkling tunes. Frankenstein hums with satisfaction but only satisfaction, nothing more, and he realizes that he is not quite so satisfied after all, because his garden, faultless as it may be, is just that, satisfactory. Red and reds and blues and yellows and countless variations, many of them his own, and indeed this garden is impressive but he has seen greater, grander landscapes, silent with awe. He wishes Master to experience the same, to be silent not with grave reservation but with the paralysis of joy and wonderment; somewhere wondrous and he thinks he knows a place. Indeed, he does.

* * *

"No problem, Boss! I'll make sure everything is even  _better_ by the time you and  _him_  get back."

Frankenstein gives Tao a brief, slightly reproachful look. Tao's 'better' usually means unwanted expenses, but he is a good child, and he shouldn't keep Master waiting any longer, so "Very well. We won't be gone long," and they depart.

* * *

The helicopter approaches the island, rolling hills and vibrant flowers that can be seen even from up here, like variegated watercolors, and yes, it is quite beautiful, but Frankenstein is eager to let Master see everything up close. An island just for them, isolated but not lonely, uninhabited but not dusty, something truly lovely.

Master looks at him, a hint of confusion on his brow, because isn't their home already lovely, lively, clean? What could be more great, more grand than their family? Than  _you, Frankenstein?_

The helicopter lands. Frankenstein blinks. He knows he's blushing. "I…" Oh, how helpless he becomes in Raizel's sweetness! and he wouldn't have it any other way. He sighs fondly and smiles. "Thank you, Master, but I think you'll like what's here as well."

Tree branches arch over them as if they have been woven by fairies for a long forgotten wedding, and the red and orange sunlight cascades through the leaves, casting warm, trembling kaleidoscopic shapes on their skin, like the rippling surface of a stream. "We're here, Master."

A spring—an oasis—crystalline, still, serene, touched only by the vibrant nature around it: kissed by tree branches, caressed by flower petals, hugged by a mosaic of moss and plants and rock. Expansive, open, a potent blue shimmering with the warm hues of a sunset. Water falls from a cliff overhead like sheer curtains, and Frankenstein is satisfied.

He turns to Raizel, who has already knelt down to touch the water. His fingers leave ripples on the surface, and Raizel watches them as if it is profound, as if those small waves whisper secrets he can't hear.

Frankenstein can't help but feel a little proud. For Master to reach out and touch, feel the water, instead of denying himself the experience of all he can and cannot see beyond that window… His curious and curious Master. Watching him now, Master resembles a forest maiden, a nymph, a pretty princess with wide, luminous eyes. But for today, Frankenstein does not want to play the role of a knight. He wishes to be a temptress, lure that pretty princess into the water-into him. "Master." Raizel looks up. "Would you mind if I left for a brief moment? I will return shortly."

Raizel stands up and meets Frankenstein's gaze. "Do what you must."

Frankenstein bows and vanishes with the wind.

The moon is starting to climb up the sky when Raizel senses Frankenstein again. He does not say anything; there is no need to, and he knows, through the rustling of the leaves, through Frankenstein's strange silence, that his bonded does not wish to be seen yet. Raizel knows he will reveal himself and what he has prepared-because Frankenstein is always preparing something-in due time.

And then, he sees him. Gliding out from behind a tree, effortless in water as he is on land. Glowing eyes and moon-speckled skin draped in aqua jewels that shimmer almost as brightly as his soul, a decorated deity. Indeed, there is nothing greater, grander than what is before him.

Frankenstein swims up to him, rests his hands on the stones at Raizel's feet. He looks up at him with a smile and playful eyes.

During his time among the humans, Raizel has heard myths about sirens and their beautiful songs; yet Frankenstein does not even have to sing.  _Breathtaking_  and Raizel is breathtaken. He does not know what to say.

Frankenstein tilts his head slightly. "Would you like to join me, Master?"

Is he allowed to be so greedy? So indulgent? Perhaps for Frankenstein, he will be just so. Raizel kneels, sheds his clothing, and takes Frankenstein's hand. He descends into the water.

"I've caught you, Master," Frankenstein says before he places a kiss between Raizel's knuckles.

"You have," Master concedes warmly.

"Just as you have caught me." He presses closer to Master who raises a hand to touch the jewels strung over his shoulders and across his chest, something of his own craft. "Does this please you, Master?"

He nods, "but not as much as you please me," because how could anything compare?

A pause, a chuckle, and Frankenstein floats away from Raizel, towards the center, beckoning with the flutter of his eyelashes, the curl of his lips.

"Frankenstein."

"Yes, Master?"

"I do not know how to swim."

Frankenstein's smile stiffens for a moment as he freezes with the fear that perhaps this whole excursion is a mistake, that perhaps Master does not like the water very much at all. Perhaps his garden is perfectly satisfactory and Master perfectly happy at home only to have Frankenstein bring him to the middle of nowhere.

"Frankenstein," Raizel calls. "I like the water."

"Ah, my apologies, Master." He swims back to Raizel and takes his hand. "Do you still wish to stay?"

Raizel nods.

"Then, if you'd like, I can show you how to swim."

"I would be very grateful."

And so, he instructs Master on how to breathe, how to hold his breath-to not breathe in while he's submerged. Then, he guides Master underwater. And perhaps it is something in the water, in the moonlight, in the way dark hair sways listlessly around Master's wondrous face that makes Frankenstein want to gasp, but he is under water, and so, he is content with just staring, watching patterns of light dance on Master's skin. Their air bubbles float to the surface; all is quiet, muted, ethereal, as if they can stay just like this for an eternity. But Frankenstein needs to breathe. They rise to the air together.

* * *

The bedroom is rather minimal; Frankenstein has not used this base much, but it will have to do for tonight, and for tonight, they can be as intimate as they'd like to be, but Master continues to look at him with concern, and it is not because the bedroom is sparse.

"Frankenstein, that is—something I've used against our enemies." To make them submit, fear, choke for air they did not deserve. Raizel's frown deepens.

"Master, don't think of them. Think of…" Frankenstein pauses for a thought. "...the water." Yes, the water—powerful, tender, all encompassing: the catalyst of life. He smiles and places his hand atop Raizel's. "Submerge me, Master. You won't hurt me." He knows he won't.

Raizel looks down, contemplating his choices. Then, he meets Frankenstein's gaze with an earnest determination and says, "If that is what you desire, I will try my best."

And Frankenstein's heart swells with affection at those words. He leans in to kiss those sweet lips before they can say any more sweet words.

Frankenstein is clutching, gasping with the way Master makes him feel, and he can't be happier. And then, he begins to feel the air grow thin, and he finds that even if he gasps, his lungs crave more air. And then, he finds that he can hardly gasp at all. He's underwater, under Raizel, no room in his lungs for oxygen because he's flooded, surrounded, encompassed by Master. Raizel holds Frankenstein's breath as he holds him.

His lungs burn. "Mas…" is all he can manage, a strained whisper, as he wraps his arms tighter around Raizel, clenches his eyes shut, shudders. His vision is dark and blurred with tears that won't roll down his face; he can hardly speak, hardly think.  _Master, Master_ , and that is everything because he has surrendered so completely to him.

He can't make a sound now, can't even cough. His nails dig into Master's skin. Barely able to hold onto himself, he holds onto Raizel, arches towards him, and comes over himself. And then, too hot, too close, too much. He's suffocating— _breathe_ —he can't breathe.

"Frankenstein!" Raizel cups Frankenstein's face and searches his eyes with an urgency as if he's in danger.

Frankenstein's eyes widen, he gasps, coughs, and gulps down air. He catches his breath for a moment and melts against Master, presses his face into that hand. And  _I'm fine_. More than fine, because Master is all that much more soft in contrast to the crushing weight of his lungs. Like water after a hot, dusty day: a relief—euphoria. His breathing finally settles. He clears his throat.

"Frankenstein," Master whispers now, too tenderly for his own good, Frankenstein thinks. He breathes in the scent of his hair and places a kiss on Frankenstein's forehead, another one on his damp lashes. He looks at him with concern.

"I'm all right, Master. That was just"—he looks down, blushes, smiles a small smile—"a bit intense."

Raizel strokes his hair, smoothes it down, and sighs, almost relieved. But he knows Frankenstein's ways. And knows that, too much like himself, it's always 'all right' until it's too late.

"Master, you haven't…?" Frankenstein asks tentatively. "I can still serve you."

Raizel shakes his head. "That is not necessary. Rest, Frankenstein. I will clean."

Frankenstein is about to sit up, about to protest, but Master gives him a firm look, and he holds his tongue. The corners of Raizel's lips turn up into an almost teasing smile and there is a glimmer of mischief in Master's gentle gaze. He knows he's pushing him. They push against each other.

* * *

As Master wipes down Frankenstein's body with a damp towel with a gentle hand and gentle eyes, he says, "Frankenstein, I do not want to treat you like our enemies."

"I know. This is different."

"I felt you panic."

"Yes, and you stopped." Frankenstein straightens up and leans forward to press his forehead against Raizel's. "Master, remember, I am the one who requested such a thing. I understand if you don't want to do this again."

Raizel stares down at his hands resting on his lap. He shakes his head. "No, this is something I can do for you if it is what you desire. I will be more careful in the future." He looks up and before Frankenstein can object, he says, "I will do what I can for you, Frankenstein, because you are…my beloved." He quickly looks down again. His face is warm.

For a heartbeat, Frankenstein forgets how to breathe.  _Beloved. His beloved_.  _Oh!_   _Perdition catch my soul_  but he is already caught. Ruined, condemned, saved by his own god, by the fountain from which his current runs.* What could he say? Raizel already knows. Their feelings are mutual. So Frankenstein puts a hand behind Raizel's head and leans in to kiss Master tenderly, deeply, breathlessly. They part. "Tomorrow," Frankenstein whispers. "I will show you the flowers."


	4. Vanity

"I can pleasure you again and again, if you would like."

"Oh,  _please_  do." Frankenstein leans forward, leans down; kisses Master's forehead, Master's lips, takes it slow and savoring. He slides his hands down Master's body beneath him then slides himself down onto Master and Master into him. He lets out a shaky sigh and moves. Or rather, performs, because this is a show just for them.

Though if he were honest, he wouldn't mind a few more eyes. There is an excitement, a satisfaction, in displaying, in showcasing. In showing off. Because as much as he dislikes the nickname, doesn't he have pretty feathers? And doesn't Master leave pretty marks on his body? But still, they pale in comparison to what is Master himself.

Frankenstein arches, flutters his lashes like butterflies, lets his soul sing while indecent, pretty syllables roll off his indecent, pretty tongue. And isn't he beautiful? The way his sunshine hair brushes his shoulders, the way his sun-sky eyes glimmer just behind it.

_You are._

He is.

_Beyond beauty._

He smiles and lets his hands wander his chest, his sides. Frankenstein reaches down and takes Master's hand to place it on his hip and is elated when Raizel's other hand slides up his thigh. Frankenstein strokes himself. He is wet and dripping on Master, but neither of them mind much right now.

Raizel reaches forward and gently replaces Frankenstein's hand with his own.

"Master," he huffs, he calls. He shudders and fills the air between them with his voice as he spills himself onto Raizel.

Raizel pulls Frankenstein down and rolls them over. He places a kiss on his cheek. "That was rather quick," he says softly.

"Oh." Frankenstein blushes and smiles slyly. "I just—" a breath, "love how you feel."

Raizel blushes too.

He pulls out of Frankenstein, slides himself between Frankenstein's legs. They rub against each other, and before long, Frankenstein is hard again and clinging to Master.

Master pauses and reaches over to their bedside drawer and pulls out a ring. "For your...prolonged enjoyment," he says as he glances up shyly, then slides the ring down Frankenstein's erection. It is tight in just the right way.

Raizel grips him and strokes him firmly, coyly playing with him and draws sweet sounds—sweeter than tea, than honey—from Frankenstein's sweet lips.

Frankenstein shivers and squirms, just a little. Just a little more. A little more. "Master, please, inside me."

And how could Raizel deny him that?

* * *

And how could Raizel deny him this?

"A play party."

"Master, you do not have to attend for my sake."

Raizel shakes his head. "I will go—I would like to go."

Frankenstein looks at him for a moment before nodding. "Yes, Master. But, you may not want to wear the school uniform while we're there."

Raizel takes a final sip of tea and nods.

* * *

The venue is grandiose, shrubbery in the front lawn, columns at the front entrance, tall front doors that would be considered exceedingly heavy for a regular human.

"Francis, you made it!" A woman, short and stout, faint wrinkles of age and smiles on her face, holds open the door. "And with your guest. How wonderful!" She turns to Raizel. "I haven't seen you around yet, but please, come in, relax, have fun," and she closes the door behind them.

Frankenstein nods at the woman. "Ji-eun, thank you so much again for the invitation."

She waves her hand as if to dismiss the comment. "Oh, please, how could I  _not_  invite you?"

After breif pleasantries, Frankenstein descends a couple steps into a living room that resembles a polished lobby, lit with a rather grand chandelier, like a cluster of stars. He loosens his ribbon and unbuttons the first button of his shirt. He parts the white fabric slightly, revealing a sleek, black collar with a blue jewel around his neck. Frankenstein turns around, faces Raizel, and bows. "Master," he says with a smile as he extends a hand to guide him down the stairs.

Raizel pauses, blinks. He takes his hand. He only blushes a little.

Ji-eun smiles at the two, then returns to the door to welcome more guests.

* * *

Raizel watches Frankenstein from the couch. Watches him have innocuous conversations interspersed with the occasional 'I made the collar myself' and 'Master isn't fond of physical punishment' or 'Master has not granted me permission to do that'.

Raizel senses Frankenstein's contentment whenever he mentions 'the Master,' 'my Master,' or just 'Master'. He blushes a bit, happy for Frankenstein's happiness, but he is not used to being so public with their relationship. Or public at all. He finally looks away from Frankenstein when someone sits on the couch next to him.

"He is a lovely submissive," Ji-eun says.

Raizel blinks.  _Frankenstein_ , 'a submissive' when he is anything but. He looks at her, looks at Frankenstein, looks into himself for a quiet moment. "He is...beyond lovely."

Ji-eun chuckles. "That's just what he said about you, and just in that way as well." She leans back.

"Though he is far from submissive," Raizel adds with a small smile, a fond glance over to Frankenstein. "He is always doing as he pleases." Even if what he does hurts him, all for the sake of others, for the sake of Raizel. Someone like Raizel. He looks down.

Ji-eun looks at him and smiles, something sympathetic, something soft, an unspoken understanding.

Frankenstein approaches them, and Raizel looks up. "Master," he says and goes to a knee. He holds out a wine glass with a dark liquid. It almost looks like a proposal. "I brought you some soda, if you would like some."

"Thank you, Francis."  _Frankenstein._  Raizel elegantly takes the glass, puts it to his elegant lips, takes a sip, takes two. He looks, for a moment, at Frankenstein kneeling before him. Then, he leans just a little forward and presses the glass against Frankenstein's lips.

Frankenstein is only a little startled. A tingling cold fills his mouth, his throat, and he closes his eyes and graciously drinks. And drinks. Its sweetness on his tongue; Master's sweetness in his soul. There are just a few eyes on them. Just a few.

Raizel pulls back the glass and holds it to his own lips. Lowers his gaze, takes a sip.

Despite the cold drink, their faces are warm, just a little.

* * *

There is a hum of activity in the upstairs play area. A hum of laughter and sighs, of shy moans, of skin against skin. And Raizel does not know where to look, to where to look away. He feels as if he is intruding, out of place, misplaced, even if some of the activities remind him of his own...indulgences with Frankenstein.

"Master," Frankenstein whispers in his ear. "If you're not comfortable here, we can leave. Otherwise, they're setting up a suspension scene in the back." A live demonstration, a good opportunity to study.

Raizel nods and walks towards the far wall, Frankenstein to his right, in step, just a step behind, always.

Ji-eun smiles and waves at them from beside the tall metal frame before returning to focus on the rope in her hands.

* * *

The man resembles a spider suspended in a web not of his own making, long bony limbs pulled back, restrained. His chest arched towards the ceiling, his arms and legs folded behind him, his head tilted back, letting his collar bones catch light. He is caught.

Frankenstein's eyes follow the rope, how it weaves in and out, how it presses against the man's skin, how it holds and hugs him, cradles him, keeps him from falling, keeps him safe. Frankenstein notices the fibers of the rope, its texture revealed by the warm lighting; he can almost feel it on his own skin.

At the mercy of gravity. At the mercy of Master. Suspension—suspended in Master's care.

He swallows. His hand brushes Master's.

* * *

By the time Frankenstein and Raizel return home, the house is quiet and dark save for soft chatter coming from a couple bedrooms. They silently retreat to their room.

Frankenstein smiles. He makes sure to lock the door behind them.


	5. Royalty

Dear Master, my dearest Master… That is what I call you, and yet, you treat me like royalty and our bed is my throne. You, a servant on a warm Sunday afternoon. Tie me up, bind me with your spells, press me down, press into me. You make my knees weak (because how can I possibly bear the weight of all of your regard—of your love?), make me  _kneel_. And you never think of yourself.

All of this for me.

I tremble with more than pleasure. You lavish me with gifts of kisses, of touch, of yourself. You give yourself completely for me, because you would not dare to do this with anyone else. To serve me, you play the role of master. And you play it well. My requests become your will, your commands.

Hold me still, make me cry—cry out for you—make me plead and beg with a voice only you will hear for a release that you will deny me just a little longer. You know precisely how to please me.

You hold me close, hold me gently. I am the prince and the crown. And you like it just so.

This is not repayment for my own devotion (you would not dream of insulting me like that). But you know—slyer than your gentleness would suggest but always more gentle than you are sly—that because you are the  _Master_ , I will not protest your servitude, your… service.

You keep me in a state of bearable agony, of sensation rolling over sensation. Crowd my head and heart with heat; crowd my breath with yours, leave no room for anything else. For these moments, we live in a dream.

And god, you serve me too well.

Your lips, your fingers, your body undo me. I fall apart like ribbons and yet my legs stay wrapped around you, because how can I ever let you go?

You clean me, dress me as if my blood is noble. As if my hands can only be gentle and have never known a sword or spear, as if these soft sheets and sheen curtains are all my world is made of. Perhaps that is what you wish for. Perhaps a pampered prince is what you wish me to be, what you wish for me, because you know I do not wish that for myself. You think my hands too soft and my soul too gentle for what I make myself to be.

And I say the same about you.

You press your lips against mine once more, and I descend from my throne to kneel before you. Dear Master, my dearest Master… I treat you like royalty.


	6. Chastity

Frankenstein kneels before his Master, picture perfect innocence and obedience, because he has saved himself just for Master these past few weeks even as he strains against the tight curved metal of his cage, for Master is his keyholder. The chastity cage is Frankenstein's own suggestion though his pleasure is completely Raizel's. He does not ask for permission to come, does not even suggest that he is allowed to, because that is for Master to decide with his own will on his own time, and Frankenstein will obey, even when he leaks and drips from being so reserved. Even when he wants, so much, for a release. He will wait, and he will please. Although it somewhat troubles Raizel to deny Frankenstein his pleasure, he knows that he seeks something beyond a simple physical gratification, and Master, his gracious Master, will always give him this.

Frankenstein lowers his head, his eyes to the floor. "Master," he says softly in submission, an acknowledgment of to whom he belongs, whom he loves: his body, his soul. In chastity, perhaps Frankenstein can pretend that he is a holy man, deserving of his god's regard.  _His_  because he is Master's only worshipper. Religion, Frankenstein has always found comical—why worship when you could become?—but for Master, he would kneel and pray and sacrifice. Lower himself so that he could lean forward to have Master past his lips, moan around him, because Master's pleasure was his own.

And when Master pulls him up, presses him down on the sheets to have the offering of himself, Frankenstein is careful to be obedient, to refrain from asking for things Master will grant him when he deems appropriate. Master unlocks his cage, and at last his flesh can properly meet flesh, and Frankenstein sighs, unable to stop himself from lifting his hips off the bed to press it towards Master, and Raizel graces him with a gentle smile, gentle caresses, and gentle teasing until he breathes hard and whimpers. He wants to thrust into Master's hand, and when Master's mouth covers him, Frankenstein doubts he can hold back for long. Yet still, he tries his best, always, always.

"Master," Frankenstein moans. "Please…" he lets slip. But before he can scold himself, Master stills, removes himself from Frankenstein, and Frankenstein knows they are done. He tries not to whimper again.

After Raizel locks him in again, Frankenstein gives him his thanks, his kind, generous Master, gentle in his ruthlessness. Frankenstein leans into Raizel, resting his forehead on his shoulder. He sighs and wants to tremble with how much he  _wants._  How much he wants Master to use him until they are both spent, until pleasure hurts, but "Thank you," he says softly again. "Thank you…" because he is his Master's and that is all he needs to know.


	7. Please oh please oh

He is fervent, needy. Frankenstein is gasping and his moans sound more like whines and whimpers. He shuts his eyes tightly in the delight and intensity as he continues to work himself as hard and fast as he can. He is desperate at this point; it's been just over a couple hours, but he feels as if it's been much longer.

Master watches him from his overstuffed chair, eyes unflinching, almost merciless, but Frankenstein knows better. He is utterly focused, monitoring, as if he is Frankenstein's lifeline. Perhaps he is, because Frankenstein feels like he is dying.

 _You do not have my permission to come,_  Master had said, had commanded his body to obey, and Frankenstein felt Master's will over him; he was enchanted.

He buries his face in the pillow. Frankenstein does not know how much longer his thighs can support him, but even as they tremble, he is still denied his release. The hand between them continues to stroke relentlessly as his other hand works the toy inside of him. He is obscene; his face burns. A show he is for Master. The sheets are stained with him and he still drips, no, he can't stop. But god, does he want more. Kept pressed to the wall of an orgasm, unable to tip himself over the edge, he moans for want of falling. He feels and hears his own slickness between his legs, his hands thoroughly coated in it as he tries once again to will the release onto himself. Once again, it is futile; Master's hold on him is absolute.

But he needs, he  _needs_  "Master." He gasps. "Master." He moans. "Please, please. Master, please!" For a moment, it almost sounds like prayer: a vulgar display. "Let me come, Master."

Frankenstein forgets how to breathe when he hears Raizel wordlessly get up and approach him. "Master," he huffs. He shivers when Master runs his hand over Frankenstein's back and stills the hand thrusting the toy.

Master slides it out of him, placing it to the side, and he clenches at the sudden emptiness. "Turn around, Frankenstein," is the calm order, and Frankenstein obeys, lying on his back and facing Raizel.

"Please, Master," he whispers, his mind swimming, his voice hoarse. As even though he had stopped touching himself to obey Master, his length still twitches, still desperate.

He gasps when Raizel pulls him closer by his thighs, pressing their hips together. His belly tightens and his head leans back. He does not know if he is capable of any more words. All he knows is that he wants  _everything_  between his legs. It is an effort to breathe.

" _Come,_ " Master orders as he finally presses into him.

It hits him hard. He forgets even to moan and can only manage to erratically draw air into his lungs. He cries out, and it feels so good, so unraveling, he can't stop shaking, and oh, he  _dirties_  himself, wave after wave after pleasure. The sheets have bunched tightly in his fists.

But even so, Master thrusts into him, without hesitation, ruthlessly drawing out his pleasure. If Frankenstein had not known what a divine experience is, perhaps now he does. And he knows they are far from done.


	8. Breakfast in Bed

He is at the heights of pleasure, peaks that refuse to put him down. Master is kind enough anchor him, to let him hold onto him for dear life as Frankenstein gasps and twists and trembles. He does not know when Master will release him from this unceasing pleasure, and it's almost painful. Frankenstein has already come, several times as is his preference, but this last time, Master's hold on his body and mind is firm, and even though he has thoroughly spent himself and can no longer spill anymore, Master does not allow him a reprieve. He is pressed to pleasure.

"Master!" he calls, and that seems to be the only word he is capable of uttering. Over and over again. He writhes under Raizel and keens, his arms tightly wrapped around his master.

"Frankenstein." Raizel's voice is calm, soothing almost . He leans down to kiss, and Frankenstein feels fragile, his moans muffled. "I permit you to stop."

Forty minutes Master held him there, though it felt at least twice as long. Frankenstein gasps, shaking as he finally remembers how to breathe. He buries his face into Master's neck as he twitches with the last of his ecstasy and strength leaving him. He catches his breath and wonders if he could pass out at this moment. His arms fall to his sides, he sighs, feeling as if he could be swallowed by the bed or disappear into thin air, a delicate numbness settling over his sweat silken body. He is languid as he smiles sleepily at his master.

Raizel places a soft kiss on his forehead, using his fingers to brush Frankenstein's hair back from his face. "Are you satisfied, Frankenstein?" he asks.

Frankenstein swallows. He does not know if he can speak at the moment and so simply nods. He watches as Raizel parts from him momentarily, missing the warmth of that body, but Raizel returns to him shortly, a warm, damp towel in his hand.

Frankenstein shifts under his skin as the towel touches him. Raizel is careful, utterly gentle, because in this moment, Frankenstein is delicate.

Frankenstein closes his eyes as Master wipes down his face, his neck, his chest, his body. He wants to thank him, but he knows Raizel does not do this for thanks, and at the moment, Frankenstein does not want to break the soft silence between them. He does not know if he can.

"Are you able to sit up, Frankenstein?"

Frankenstein opens his eyes and does so, feeling his muscles quietly croak and a vague soreness. He feels something cold on his lips. Raizel is holding up a glass of water. Frankenstein blushes a little, something as simple as this, he is more than capable of doing himself, but he knows Raizel enjoys the opportunity to take care of him, so he drinks from the glass Master tilts for him.

"Thank—" Frankenstein clears his throat. "Thank you, Master." His voice is raspy.

"You did well," _as always._ Raizel places the glass next to the towel on the bedside table. "Will you rest with me, Frankenstein?"

Frankenstein glances at the clock on the wall. 4:27 am. They had been going for the past seven hours, and there is still a bit of time before their morning should start. Frankenstein lets out a content sigh. He nods.

He lies down once again, and Master does the same next to him, facing him, an arm over Frankenstein's abdomen, hand feeling his skin. Raizel is protective, and Frankenstein sleeps well.

When he wakes half an hour later, Master is watching him. Frankenstein rolls slightly over to feel the sheets fold and press against his skin. He lets out a breath against the pillow and smiles at Master. "What would you like for breakfast, Master?"

"It is the weekend." Raizel blushes a little. "I...would like to have you," he says softly, a little pride in managing to say such line.

Frankenstein's smile brightens. He chuckles. "Of course," he says, lifting himself onto his hands and knees to get on top of Raizel. He straddles him. " _Bon appétit,_ Master."


	9. Have a Nice Day

Frankenstein swallows, nervously twirling his expensive fountain pen between his fingers before placing it down with a hurried click. He pushes the papers a bit further away on the desk and lets out a breath as he feels and hears Master slide the zipper down with his teeth. Frankenstein looks down, only blushing a little at the sight of his master kneeling between his legs; it almost feels blasphemous. His study is no place for such things, but it is always so hard to resist.

'It'll be quick,' he thinks as he sits forward a bit more—then he can get back to work. He smiles slightly as Master presses his tongue to the cloth of his underwear, just a thin layer between him and Master, and yet Frankenstein is already wanting more. He resists the instinct to impatiently lift his hips off the chair.

A soft, pleased sound leaves him when Master begins to indulge him fully, the wet sounds and sights making his face warm.

The cell phone on his desk vibrates audibly.

For a second, Frankenstein's brows crease in mild annoyance, and he reaches over to reject the call—

"Answer it." Master's breath ghosts over him.

Frankenstein blinks at him. "Master?" Raizel looks back: an order. "Ah…" He clears his throat and does as he's told. "Hello?"

"Speaker, Frankenstein."

He obeys.

"Mr. Lee, hello!" chimes the smooth voice on the other side. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time."

 _A great time_ , Master insists as he once again welcomes Frankenstein into his mouth, a mouth that at the moment is suddenly hotter and closer and too close than a moment before.

Frankenstein swallows. "You've caught me at a great time," he manages to repeat.

"Fantastic." There's a sound of rustling and background chatter from the phone, and Frankenstein hopes it's loud enough to cover the sounds from behind his desk. "As you know, the contractors are coming next week to—"

"Yes," Frankenstein says, a bit too loudly and quickly. "Yes, I know."

_That is impolite, Frankenstein._

He shivers. Frankenstein breathes deeper, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment as his hips twitch upward before he makes himself settle down.

There is a brief pause on the other side that makes him worry. "Well, do you happen to have the plans with you?"

Frankenstein takes a look at the desk. Yes, he does, the map of the school sitting right there with notes written in blue ink on them about the construction work to be done. "S-sorry"—he squeezes the arm rest—"They're in my office. I don't have them right now," he says. He swallows a groan at the sensation of Master's merciless tongue, his thighs tensing.

He hopes the phone doesn't pick up the sound of his heavy breathing. He bows his head as another moan presses against his throat.

"Oh, okay, perhaps I should wait until Monday to ask you for them then?"

"Yes, perhaps—" Frankenstein sucks in a breath, and he can feel himself twitching inside of Master's throat. "Perhaps you should," he says, voice tight.

Master scrapes his fangs along his sensitive flesh and squeezes him with a hand, and Frankenstein feels ready to burst. His face burns.

"Mr. Lee, are you alright? Am I interrupting something?"

 _Be honest,_ is his Master's command.

He wonders if he could possibly expire at this moment. He keens quietly. "I… you're…" A pause too long for his own liking as Frankenstein tries to think of something acceptable to say.

 _It is rude to keep them waiting, Frankenstein._ And if Master's cruel mouth were not full, perhaps Frankenstein would have seen an amused smile.

"I'm in good company, that's all," he says in a breath.

_Just 'good'?_

"Ah-fantastic! Gracious, perfect, company," Frankenstein hurriedly corrects.

"Oh! I _am_ interrupting something then." Something about that sentence bothers Frankenstein. "Sorry. I suppose I should leave you to it, then. Have a nice day!"

"I already am."

 _Let them hang up first_. Raizel pushes forward until all of Frankenstein is in him.

"Good bye." Frankenstein's eyes are trained on the phone screen, his chest rising and falling. He bites his lip as he lets himself carefully, gently, thrust. When at last they hang up, Frankenstein sighs and moans properly for the first time, and all he wants to do is curl around his master's head, fingers in that hair, and let himself become abandoned.

Master's lips and eyes are glistening. The low rumble in his throat pleases Frankenstein. _You may,_ and Frankenstein's heart leaps.

When he curls forward, daring to press Master's head closer to him, onto him, he is achingly hard shamefully messy, and he wants, so much, for that mouth and that tongue and throat and teeth and heat and—

He twitches and trembles, hitching breaths and sounds falling from his mouth. "Thank you...thank you, Master," he whispers.

Frankenstein moans, satisfied, when Master slowly pulls back from him, and he watches when Master swallows.

He leans back against his seat and sighs. The phone catches his eye once again. Perhaps he should remember to silence it next time.

Or perhaps not.

He receives a text: 'Good job~ Good job~'

Master smiles at him.

He, of course, smiles back.


	10. Thanks(giving)

His breath stops in his throat at the sensation of his master striking him. Groaning, he rocks back, savoring the sting travelling down his thighs and up his spine. "Thank you, Master," he breathes.

Master strikes him again, and he jolts. "Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

He moans at the next one, his thighs trembling. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep himself supported. His cock twitches, wanting. "Thank-Thank you," he whispers.

Master strikes only hard enough for him to feel just enough pain to excite him, though not as much as he is generally accustomed to in battle. They are different kinds of thrills.

His flesh must be red by now. He feels Master's fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer so that Master's own presses warmly against him. "Are you satisfied, Frankenstein?" That voice is gentle and glides cooly over his heated body.

"...No," Frankenstein admits. "Harder, Master, more."

Raizel looks down at him with concern, his brows knitting slightly. "You are certain?" he asks as he soothingly carresses Frankenstein's flesh, on the verge of bruising.

"Yes, Master." Frankenstein swallows. "Punish me, for everything, show me I'm yours. Make me cum, just like this, then take me for yourself."

"As you wish," Raizel whispers in his hair, his hand snaking around to grasp at Frankenstein, stroking him a few times before straightening once again. He raises his hand, and it descends swiftly, like judgment, like fire.

Frankenstein gasps, his fingers curling around the linen, bunching it. "Thank you," his words are full of air. A sound, a flash of pain, and Frankenstein calls out. His thighs and core are tense, his hips involentarily rocking, seeking some sort of relieving contact; it is wet between his legs.

The next one feels like bursting firecrackers and he is hot and trembling. "Thank-" Master does not wait for him to finish before he strikes him again, sending him over the edge, toppling him. Frankenstein's chest heaves and he shivers, coming hard, clutching at the sheets and contracting, making a mess of the bed beneath him. He gasps for breath when he feels Master abruptly press into him. A moan; he feels like melting. "Thank you, Master," he says, voice dreamy and a little hoarse. "Thank you..."

He does not stop thanking him for the rest of the night.


End file.
